


Dirty Laundry

by arysa13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Humiliation, Light Dom/sub, Panty Kink, Praise Kink, Roommates, Smut, The 100 WTFluff Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 22:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Bellamy develops a thing for wearing his roommate's underwear.





	Dirty Laundry

Bellamy tips the laundry basket full of clean clothes onto his bed. It’s not a surprise to find that half of them are Clarke’s. He rolls his eyes, wondering when the last time she did her own laundry was. She’s always throwing her things in with his. Usually just a few t-shirts and some socks, but still. She could at least ask.

He starts sorting through it, folding his own clothes, but just piling Clarke’s in a heap. Yes, he’s petty. She can fold her own clothes. He’s absently folding and sorting, thinking about other things, until he picks up a pair of black cotton panties. Well, those definitely aren’t his. 

He stares at it for a moment, then flushes when he realises he’s picturing Clarke wearing them. He swallows. Just another inappropriate thought about his roommate. They’re becoming more and more frequent these days.

The stupid thing is, they’re not even a particularly sexy pair of panties. Just black cotton, a regular old bikini cut. Yet his cock has jumped to attention at just the knowledge that they’re Clarke’s. He strokes the cotton with his thumb, heart pounding. He chews his lip, still staring at the panties, thinking about Clarke wearing them and nothing else.

He should just throw them onto her pile and forget about it probably. But then, she’s not home, and he’s half hard already. Seems like the perfect opportunity to jerk off without having to worry about how loud he’s being.

Before he can change his mind, he shucks his pants and boxers and falls onto the bed, panties in hand.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s aware that jerking off over his roommate’s panties is kind of creepy and fucked up. But he’s too horny to feel gross about it yet.

He squirts some lotion from beside his bed into his hand and wraps his hand around his cock, gently stroking himself, letting his erection grow to its full size. 

He closes his eyes, toying with his cock with one hand, Clarke’s panties bunched in the other. Except they could be any random piece of clothing, clenched in his fist like that. He needs to be able to see them, or feel them properly. He briefly considers rubbing the panties against his cock, but then he’s not entirely convinced that wouldn’t give him some kind of dick burn, even though the cotton is pretty soft.

He has a sudden flash of a vision of himself in the panties, and his cock throbs. Fuck, what’s that about? And yet, now that he’s thought of it, he can’t get it out of his head. Him, wearing a pair of Clarke’s panties.

“Fuck,” he groans. He opens his fist and lets cock go so he can grab the panties in both hands. He’s shaking as he slips his feet into the panties and tugs them up his legs. It’s s struggle to get them past his thick thighs, but they’re kind of stretchy so he manages to get them up and over his ass.

They’re tight. Evidently, Clarke has a smaller ass than he does, plus she doesn’t have a cock and balls to deal with. He bulges out of them everywhere, and he barely gets them over his cock. They’re going to be so stretched out after this, there is no way he can give them back to her. But he’s wearing them, and it feels so fucking wrong, and so fucking right.

Something about the thought of his cock rubbing against the same material where Clarke’s cunt has been. The way the soft cotton rides up his ass, smothers his cock and balls. Knowing he’s not supposed to be doing this, not just because they’re Clarke’s panties, but because he’s got panties on at all. The thought of someone, anyone, but especially Clarke, walking in and seeing him wearing a pair of women’s panties. How humiliating that would be.

He shoves his hand into the panties, curling his fist around his cock again. He tugs at himself, his hand moving quickly, up and down, his eyes fluttering shut, his head rolling back. His mind is full of Clarke, sucking him off while he wears her panties. He moans, low and long, picking up the pace as he draws closer to orgasm.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he swears, as he feels his balls tighten. He comes hard, groaning, thick spurts of it filling Clarke’s panties. It trickles down his balls and thighs as he lies there in the aftermath, breathing hard, face burning.

It’s only a few moments before he starts to feel disgusted and ashamed of himself. God, if Clarke ever found out, she’d think he was a complete pervert, taking her panties, wearing them, and then coming in them.

He knows he has to take them off, clean himself up, hide the evidence. But he lies there for a few more minutes, unwilling to remove the panties just yet. It’s embarrassing, but he likes wearing them too much. He’s surprised at himself. He never thought he’d be into the emasculating feeling of wearing panties.

He swallows. This is just for him. He’s never going to let anyone know about his new found kink. Not a one night stand, not a girlfriend, and _definitely _not any of his friends. They’d never look at him the same again.

-

He ends up tossing the used panties in the trash. If Clarke misses them, she’ll probably put it down to the dryer eating them or something. She need not ever find out. 

He manages to act normal around her, even though all he can think about every time he sees her over the next few days is what he did. He burns with shame and desire at the memory. Part of him wants her to figure it out, accuse him of it so he can admit to being a dirty pervert. But she doesn’t, because why would she? It’s just one dumb pair of panties she probably has no idea she even put in with his laundry.

The thing is, once he’s done it, he can’t stop thinking about it. About sliding Clarke’s panties up his thighs and over his cock. He kind of wants to try wearing them for longer. Under his clothes while he’s at work, or while he’s sitting on the couch with Clarke, with her none the wiser that he’s wearing her underwear. And then locking himself in his room and rubbing his cock until he comes all over himself.

He considers going out and buying some ladies’ panties of his own, but the thought does nothing for him. It seems it’s not purely about the taboo of wearing women’s underwear. It’s about the taboo of wearing _her _underwear, specifically, knowing she doesn’t have a clue about it. Knowing she’d be horrified if she found out.

He wonders what other kinds of panties she has tucked away in her drawer. Something lacy, maybe? A thong? He’s definitely seen her with a Victoria’s Secret bag more than once. And while the thought of her wearing sexy lingerie is hot, his mind keeps straying, and he always ends up with the image of himself in a lacy black thong burning vividly in his mind. It becomes a daily distraction, a growing urge, and he gets himself off to the thought of it more than once.

It’s two weeks after the first time that he finally gets up the courage to do something about it. She’s out on a date, much to his chagrin. Not that she doesn’t have every right to be on a date, especially when he’s never given her the slightest hint that he might want something more than friendship from her. Anyway, it gives him the opportunity he’s been waiting for.

The plan is to sneak into her room and go through her underwear drawer, and find a pair that he thinks she won’t miss, at least for a while. He’s not sure how he’s going to tell, but hopefully he’ll know in the moment.

He waits half an hour after she leaves for her date, just in case she forgets something and has to come back. When he’s sure she’s really gone, he heads for her bedroom, adrenalin rushing through his veins. He opens the door and switches on the light. Her room is actually tidy for once, and Bellamy wonders if she’s planning on bringing her date back here later. The thought makes his chest tighten with jealousy, but he ignores it, instead heading for the chest of drawers beside her bed, where it seems likely she keeps her underwear.

Before he reaches it, however, the laundry basket in the corner of the room catches his eye. It’s full of dirty clothes, and on top, a pair of pink and white panties with a lace trim. His cock throbs. He heads for the basket. She’s much less likely to miss a pair that she’s just worn and thrown in the laundry basket to be washed.

His pulls the panties out of the basket. Not exactly what he was imagining, but he can’t deny the femininity of the colours and the lace does something to him. And the fact that she’s worn them recently. Today, even, maybe. There’s a slight stain on pink material on the inside of the crotch. He’s sure it’s from her arousal. Maybe she even came in these panties.

His heart thuds dramatically as he brings the panties to his face and presses them against his nose. He breathes in deeply, whimpering as he relishes the heady scent of her cunt for the first time. He knows what he’s doing is sick, but he can’t bring himself to care that he’s turned into some panty-sniffing creep. God, he wishes he could taste her cunt. He salivates, but he stops short of actually licking the stain on her panties. That would be fucked up.

He takes the panties back to his room and makes sure the door is shut tightly before he strips off his sweatpants and boxers and replaces them with the panties. He pads over to the full-length mirror, pulling his shirt up so he can admire himself.

He looks ridiculous. They ride up his ass badly, his balls and pubic hair hang out the sides, and his erection makes the material bulge obscenely. They’re completely impractical and uncomfortable. It’s so fucking hot. He strokes himself over the panties, feeling his cock twitch. He wants to come. He wants to jerk off right now and come in his panties again. But he also wants to tease and torture himself. Walk around the house all night with Clarke’s panties on.

He grabs his sweatpants from off the floor and pulls them on over the panties, letting out a shaky breath. He looks in the mirror again. The pants don’t hide his erection well, but there’s no way to tell what he’s wearing underneath. Only he knows.

He spends the rest of the evening wearing them. He makes dinner wearing Clarke’s panties. He washes up wearing Clarke’s panties. He sits on the couch with his book, wearing Clarke’s panties. He’s aware of them the whole time. The tickle of the lace trim. The rub of the cotton between his ass cheeks.

He’s about to put the book down and shove his hand down his pants, when he hears the apartment door open. He checks the time on his phone. Just after ten. He listens for voices, but he hears none, and he can only make out one pair of footsteps. Clarke rounds the corner and walks into the living room alone.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, putting down the book as Clarke comes towards him._ I’m wearing your panties, I’m wearing your panties_, his brain screams. “How was your date?”

Clarke shrugs, falling onto the couch beside him. “Average. She was nice but there wasn’t really a spark. What did you get up to?”

_Well, I snuck into your room and stole a pair of your panties. I’m wearing them right now_.

He swallows. “Not much.”

“Sounds amazing,” Clarke smiles.

Bellamy’s cock is truly throbbing now. All he can think about is that he’s wearing Clarke’s panties, and she’s right there, wearing a sexy little black dress with an enormous expanse of cleavage on display. He wants to pull his pants down and show her. Wants her to tell him what a naughty boy he is for taking her panties and wearing them. Wants her to tease him about it, make fun of him, rub his cock until he’s about to come and then leave him hanging as punishment.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s learning way too much about himself lately.

“You okay?” Clarke asks.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says weakly. “Just tired.”

“Me too,” Clarke agrees. “Time for bed, I think. Night, Bell.”

“Night,” Bellamy returns. He watches her ass as she heads for her room, and as soon as she’s gone, he races to his own room, pants hitting the floor before his door is even closed. He comes in under a minute, silently as possible, knowing Clarke is just down the hall.

He lies there in his own come, feeling guilty and ashamed. Already he’s thinking up ways to get another pair of her panties. He groans, hating himself. How did he get here? Obsessing over his roommate’s panties like some slimy teenager who can’t get laid? It’s humiliating. And yet, he knows the fact that it’s humiliating is part of the appeal.

But he can’t do it again. He’s resolved. He can’t keep taking her panties without her noticing. One pair she might not notice. Two pairs she probably will, but probably won’t realise what’s happening to them. Any more than that, Bellamy knows she’ll stop at nothing until she figures it out.

-

Bellamy ends up secretly washing the pair of pink and white panties in the bathroom sink while Clarke isn’t home. He tries not to think about wearing them again, but it’s impossible. So he wears them. He wears them to work, and he wears them out with friends, and he wears them at home, and in between wears he washes them, and keeps them in the back of his own underwear drawer.

It only lasts two weeks before they stop satisfying his needs. They don’t really feel like hers anymore, now that he’s the only one wearing them. They don’t smell like her, and she hasn’t worn them in two weeks. They may as well be any pair of women’s panties by now.

He still keeps them in the back of his underwear drawer, but he stops wearing them. He’s desperate to get his hands on a new pair. He’s pretty sure he can get away with it. All he has to do is take a pair of Clarke’s dirty panties, wear them, wash them, and then claim they got in with his laundry somehow. It’s a trick he can probably only use once, but hopefully he can come up with something else next time. He’s not even pretending there isn’t going to be a next time.

He decides he’s going to do it under the guise of being a nice roommate. She’s in her room on a Saturday evening, blasting Carly Rae Jepsen. He knocks on the door, and opens it a second later, knowing she won’t be able to hear over the music.

She grins when she spots him in the doorway, and turns down the volume. She’s in her sweatpants and a t-shirt, though her make-up and hair are done. Half her closet appears to be laid out on her bed.

“Spring cleaning?” he asks, amused.

“I’m going out with Harper and Maya tonight. I can’t decide what to wear.”

“You want me to help?”

“No offence, but I don’t really trust your fashion sense.”

Bellamy scowls. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I came in here to see if you had any laundry you want me to do while I’m doing mine, but maybe now I won’t bother.” He glances at her full laundry basket.

“I can do my own laundry, Bellamy.”

“Then why am I always finding your things in with mine?”

“I just like to make you feel needed.”

Bellamy gives her a dry look. “Just give me your laundry and be grateful.”

“I’ll do something nice for you later,” Clarke promises, grabbing her laundry basket by the handles and hoisting it up. She carries it over to him and drops it into his waiting arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy says, trying to hold back a smirk.

He carries the basket of laundry to his room, pretending to be nonchalant, in case Clarke is watching him, though he knows she’s still in her room, preoccupied by her wardrobe dilemma. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, though he’s dying to look in the basket to see what’s waiting for him. He manages to keep his composure until his bedroom door is shut behind him.

He drops the basket onto his bed, and starts rifling through it like a dog digging for a bone. There are a few pairs of panties in there, but none catch his fancy, until his eyes land on a scrap of red lace. His heart stops and his cock jumps. He pulls it from the hamper, holding up the flimsy thong, heart lodged in his throat. Fuck. He doesn’t know what’s hotter, the thought of Clarke wearing it, or the thought of _him _wearing it.

He bunches it in his hand and brings it to his nose, taking a long sniff. They smell so fucking good. So Clarke. Once he’s let her aroma settle into his nostrils, he pulls his pants and boxers off and slips into the thong. He’s trembling with excitement as he pulls it up, the string of lace resting between his ass cheeks. The front of it does an even worse job of covering his junk than the previous pairs, partly because it’s so tiny, but it’s also totally see-through.

He gulps as he looks down at his swollen cock, jutting out of the thong. He walks over to the mirror, loving the way the lace feels against his skin. It’s soft, but also a little itchy. He pulls his shirt off and stares at his reflection. He repositions the thong so it’s over his cock more, though it’s never going to contain the whole thing.

He turns around and looks over his shoulder, admiring the thin strip of lace nestled between his ass cheeks. It looks so good against his brown skin.

He hears the sound of his door opening, and he whips his head towards it, just as Clarke walks into his room, holding the sweatpants she was wearing earlier. Bellamy’s stomach drops.

“Shit, Clarke, wait—” Bellamy chokes out, but it’s too late.

“Can you wash these too— oh my god.” she stops, her eyes alighting on him where he stands frozen by the mirror, dressed in nothing but her little red thong. There’s nowhere to hide, and anyway, his feet are glued in place.

Clarke stares at him, and doesn’t look away. His eyes find the floor, and he wishes it would open up and swallows him whole. His whole body burns with shame at being caught out. He doesn’t know what’s more humiliating, being discovered as a pervert who steals women’s underwear, or a weirdo who likes to wear it.

Plus, his cock and balls are totally on display too, and while he has nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to his size, these are so not the circumstances he wanted her to see them under. He doesn’t try to cover himself. His fists are clenched by his sides.

God, it’s so fucking humiliating. He feels small, weak, unmanly. As much as he fantasised about Clarke catching him, he never actually wanted it to _happen_. She’ll think he’s disgusting, sick in the head. She’ll never be attracted to him after seeing him like this. She’ll tell all her friends, and they’ll laugh at him. She’ll make sure he never gets a date again.

And despite all of this, or maybe because of it, he’s more turned on than ever. His engorged cock makes it painfully obvious, both to him and to her.

“Is that mine?” Clarke finally asks.

“Yes,” Bellamy whispers pitifully.

Clarke throws her sweatpants into the laundry basket on his bed. Bellamy lifts his eyes, but not his head. She obviously found something to wear. A sexy little red number. It matches the thong he’s wearing.

“It looks good on you,” she says. Bellamy swallows. Does he imagine the slight waver of her voice? He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t know how to. “Have you been taking my panties so you can wear them?”

Bellamy nods sharply. “Yes.”

Clarke bites her lip. “You like wearing women’s underwear, huh?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, coaxing. “It’s okay. I’m not judging.”

“It’s not—” Bellamy starts. He squeezes his eyes shut. Her reaction is not at all what he expected. She’s not laughing, or yelling, or calling him disgusting. It makes him feel like maybe he can tell her the truth. That he can really trust her. And it’s not like he didn’t trust her before, with normal things. But he didn’t think he’d be able to trust her with _this_. “It’s not just any women’s panties,” he admits, growing braver. “Just yours.”

Bellamy swears he hears her breath hitch from across the room. She pushes the door shut behind her and leans against it for a moment, before standing up straight and walking towards him. Bellamy feels something shift between them, and he swallows thickly. She stops a couple of feet away from him.

“What is it about my panties specifically that you like?” she asks, voice low, curious.

“Um,” Bellamy flushes. “I like knowing you wore them. They smell like you.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. Fuck. Now she knows he fucking sniffed them too. “So you wear them and smell them. Anything else? Get yourself off? Have you ever come in my panties?”

Bellamy nods, ashamed. “Yes.”

“Can I take a picture?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy stiffens. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“I won’t show anyone. It’s just for me.”

“Why?”

“I think you look sexy.”

Bellamy flushes. “No I don’t,” he whispers. “I look like an idiot. It’s humiliating.”

“No,” Clarke shakes her head. “You look so pretty.” _Pretty_. Bellamy blushes again. If the thought of her punishing him wasn’t arousing enough, this is so much worse.

“You don’t think it makes me—less of a man?”

“Of course not.”

“You don’t think I’m disgusting? A creep? A weirdo?”

“I don’t think you’re a Radiohead song, no.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy begs, a little desperately. He’s on display here, at his most vulnerable, and she’s making jokes.

“Sorry,” Clarke whispers, stepping closer. “I don’t think you’re a creep. Although it was very wicked of you to steal my panties. You could have just asked me.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says softly. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“I think you did want me to know,” Clarke says. She’s so close to him now, looking up at him. She’s so tiny, yet he knows she holds all the power. He wants her to hold the power. Wants her to use it. “Down inside, you wanted me to find out, didn’t you? You can tell me.”

“Yes,” Bellamy admits.

“And what did you want to happen when I found out?”

Bellamy closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at her. “I wanted you to punish me,” he croaks out. “For being a bad boy.”

“Do you think you’ve been a bad boy?” Clarke asks him. “Do you think you deserve to be punished?”

Bellamy opens his eyes again, nodding. His whole body is trembling. He wants her to touch him so badly, he doesn’t care how. Spank him or suck him, he just needs her to do something to release the tension.

“Go and sit on the bed,” Clarke commands. Bellamy feels a thrill go through him. He tries to tone down his excitement as he obeys her.

Clarke watches him take his position on the end of the bed. He sits there, forcing himself to be still, patiently waiting for her to tell him what to do next. She follows him over and stands between his legs, spread wide out of habit.

“I’m not going to punish you,” Clarke tells him. He feels a swell of disappointment. “Because I don’t think you’ve been naughty.”

“You don’t?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I think you’ve been a very good boy, Bellamy.” Bellamy can’t control the whimper that escapes his lips.

“But I stole your panties,” he says.

“Hm, true,” Clarke says, tilting her head, considering. “Perhaps I can punish you for that another time. But for now, I want to reward you for being so brave and honest with me.”

“Okay.”

“Would you like that?”

“Uh huh.”

Clarke smiles. “Thought so.” She reaches out and brushes a curl from his forehead, the traces her thumb along his cheek. She leans down, and presses her lips gently against his. They’re so soft, and she’s so tender with him. He feels weak.

She kisses him harder, and he responds in turn, his head spinning. Clarke pulls back, leaving Bellamy wanting. She reaches behind her and unzips her dress, before slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. She’s naked underneath. Bellamy’s eyes rake over her body, her glorious tits, her dark pink nipples, her shaven cunt. She’s so gorgeous. He half believes that none of this is real.

“I want you to keep my panties on,” Clarke tells him. Bellamy nods. He wants that too. Clarke kisses him again, climbing onto his lap as she does, running her fingers through his hair. Her pussy presses against his hard cock, and he can feel how wet she is through the material of the panties he’s wearing.

Bellamy wants to wrap his arms around her, touch her all over, but he keeps his hands by his sides, waiting for her instruction.

“You’re such a good boy, Bell,” Clarke says. “So patient.” She runs her fingers down his arm and takes his hand, guiding it towards her cunt. He slips his fingers inside her. “Feel how wet I am for you,” Clarke gasps.

Bellamy wants to finger her. He’s desperate to make her come, to make her feel good. But she grabs his wrist and removes his hand from between her legs, and lifts up to his lips. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, tasting her, finally. Clarke watches him, her pupils wide, her gaze steady.

She takes his fingers from his mouth and places it on her waist. His other hand follows. Clarke’s arms lock around his neck, and she grinds herself against his erection. It takes all his self-control not to thrust against her. Her wet cunt, the panties between it and his cock, her tits bouncing just slightly as she rolls her hips towards him. It’s a lot to handle. He feels like he’s barely breathing.

She reaches a hand between them, fondling his balls while she continues to hump his bulging cock. He whimpers.

“That feel good?” she asks.

“Yes.” His voice comes out weak and strangled. Clarke drops her lips to his neck, then trails them up until he can feel her hot breath against his ear.

“I want you inside me,” she says. Bellamy’s breath hitches.

“Please,” he says.

Clarke stops her motions, shuffling back on his lap a little so she can use her hand properly. She runs her finger along the outside of the panties. They’re soaking from her arousal and his precum. She peels the red lace away, letting his cock free. She wraps her hand around him, stroking him gently.

“Look at how big you are,” Clarke says. “Don’t know how you got this big boy in these tiny little panties. Must have been desperate for it.”

Bellamy nods. Tears form in his eyes. Clarke notices, and gives him a sweet little kiss.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’ve been so good.” She strokes his hair some more. He likes that. He closes his eyes and leans into her hand. He opens his eyes again when he feels her weight shift, looking down so he can watch her sink onto his cock.

He grips her hips tightly, his breath coming out shaky as she lowers herself onto him. She lets out a small whine as she takes the whole thing inside her, her mouth hanging open. Bellamy groans, then kisses her, frantic and messy. Clarke’s arms wrap around him tightly, kissing him back hungrily.

She rocks against him, slowly at first, teasing herself and him. Her warm, tight cunt grips his cock, and it feels so good he thinks he might pass out. He groans as she picks up the pace, his head dropping to her shoulder. He doesn’t know how long he can last with her riding him like this.

“Fuck,” he swears. “Fuck, Clarke. You feel so good. I need to come so bad.”

“You can hold on a little longer,” Clarke tells him, sounding breathless. “I know you can, baby. I’m almost there, and then you can fill me up with your come, okay?”

Bellamy nods. Clarke bounces on his cock, her moans getting higher and more frequent, and then she grinds down, hard, titling her head back as she comes.

“Yes,” she cries. “Good boy, Bellamy, you can come now. Come in me.” Bellamy couldn’t hold back any longer even if he wanted to. Her orgasm, calling him a good boy, grinding on his cock, her come squirting all over his crotch, all of it is too much to handle, and it sends him over the edge.

He moans her name as he comes, dropping his lips to her shoulder, shuddering through his orgasm as he empties himself into her cunt.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, holding each other, breathing heavy, Bellamy’s soft cock still inside Clarke’s pussy. Eventually, Bellamy can’t hold himself up anymore, and he lies back on his bed, taking her with him. Clarke shifts off him, his cock slipping out of her, along with a trickle of his come. Her red thong is totally ruined.

Bellamy watches her as she settles herself beside him. She grins. “That was good, right?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. Clarke strokes his chest.

“I never thought you’d be into something like that,” Clarke admits. “It’s so hot. You wearing my panties.”

“You still need to punish me for stealing them,” Bellamy reminds her.

“I will,” Clarke promises. “But I didn’t want that to be our first time. And we should—talk about what this is.”

“Later,” Bellamy says. “I need to rest.”

Clarke giggles. “Okay. We can share my panties from now on, if you like. You don’t have to keep it a secret anymore.”

“That was half the fun,” Bellamy admits.

“Don’t worry,” Clarke tells him. “There are plenty more ways we can have fun.”


End file.
